


Prompt Fiction

by oftachancer



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, M/M, Modern AU, PWP, Romance, asked and answered, prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:55:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22758133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oftachancer/pseuds/oftachancer
Summary: Snippets and smatterings that arrived as results from prompts and challenges. Some may appear in the actual story associated, some may not.
Relationships: Anders/Male Trevelyan, Lace Harding/Sera
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sprung from Prompt 65: “Did you do something different with your hair? ” For Aran x Anders.
> 
> In which a college senior and his older bartender lover get up to kinky things, in modern times. Peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to state, for the record, that the following emerged because of the idea that either Hawke or Sera would see Anders coming out of a room and comment on him having a braid instead of his usual sexy man bun. I lay all other blame on the characters. That is all.
> 
> — There is pure smut below. Nothing else. If you do not like graphic depictions of energetic men in various scenarios, don’t click to keep reading. You have been warned.—

Aran gritted his teeth as the vibration pulsed against his prostate. Across the table, Anders smiled the sharp lazy smile of a hyena and rolled the small remote between his fingers. “How’s your dessert?”

“I’m going to kill you slowly.”

Anders barked a laugh. “Are you? So the way you keep biting your lip and sighing, that’s evidence of distress, is it?”

Aran shivered as another pulse sent a wave of pleasure through him. He’d been rock hard for an hour, trying to make conversation and eat a meal while Anders nudged the remote absently around the table, pressing the button with more and more frequency as the meal wore on. Now, it was all Aran could do to sit upright and not groan out loud. His body was on fire. How Anders expected him to leave the restaurant with his dignity intact, he had no idea. Perhaps he didn’t. He was disturbed. Maybe he was hoping that Aran would simply devolve into an animal and jack off at the table. He wasn’t far off from that state. He could feel sweat dripping down his spine with the effort of behaving like an articulate person.

“Hmm?” Anders batted his eyes, smirking like the jackal that he was.

Aran opened his mouth then clamped it shut on a groan as another pulse ricocheted through his system. He could do this. He could. He shifted on his seat and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head from the simple pleasure of rubbing against the inside of his jeans. That was it. He shifted again, exhaling hard.

“No, I don’t think so.”

Aran cracked an eye open. “Piss off.”

“We are in public, my muffin. If you wish to do that, we should probably retire to more appropriate accommodations.”

“If I wish-“ Aran gaped at him. “You’re an insane person.”

The man shrugged unapologetically. Then pressed the button long enough that Aran was left gripping the edge of the table, grinding helplessly down onto the plug in his ass. As Anders forked mangoes from the plate in front of Aran and smiled sweetly at him. Like a lunatic. An adorable lunatic.

“All right, all right. Here.” He tossed his coat over Aran’s lap and patted the younger man’s shoulder. “Let’s go home, shall we?”

As they crossed the street and walked the two blocks back to Anders’ house, Aran hissed and hopped at the random bolts to his core. “You had better be planning to fuck me sideways, you monster,” Aran growled in between breathless yelps.

“Oooh, nnnnn,” Anders rolled his eyes innocently. “No, as a matter of fact. But you did lose at poker. And you insisted it was your game. It’s definitely not.”

“I hate you.”

“Yes, I can tell.” 

Aran stumbled against him. Were the pulses getting stronger? For fuck’s sake. They were; they were getting stronger. Anders’ arm circled around his waist to hold him upright as they made their way to his door. 

“How are we?”

“Anders…” he moaned in as threatening a manner as he could manage with his knees starting to shake. He leaned against the taller man as they slipped through the door, grinding mindlessly against him and dropping the coat to the floor in the foyer. “Fuck me. Please, Maker, I can’t, right? I suck at poker. I admit it. I suck at all games. I’m terrible at them. I’m not competitive enough. I’m a bad person. Please, fuck, anything.”

Anders cupped the back of his neck, nudging him back against the wall and kissing him until Aran was a rutting, sweating mess. “You’re not a bad person. You’re a very, very good person.” He kissed Aran’s nose. “Now up the stairs.”

“Anders…” Aran whined. 

“Up, up, up.” The one set of stairs felt miles long. Every step was sweet torture, with Anders supporting him the whole way, kissing the shell of his ear and whispering encouragement. “There, you see,” he said as they reached the landing. “You’re capable of so much more than you know.” 

“Death. So much death,” Aran wheezed. 

“Oh, I hope so. I’ll hold you to that.” He grinned, pushing the bedroom door open. “Now, my little cockdrunk friend, do you think that you can manage to hold it together long enough to fuck _me_ sideways?” Aran shuddered, leaning heavily against the doorway and eyeing him as he plucked at his bloody, fucking suspenders and waggled his brows. “Give it the good old ‘college try’, as it were?”

Aran sucked his teeth and dragged his shirt off over his head. 

“That’s the spirit! Lovely man, you are.” He deftly unbuttoned his shirt and slacks, slipping out of them as Aran fumbled, hissing, at the button-fly of his jeans. “Do you require assistance?”

“Do you want me to come?”

“Eventually.”

“Well, if not now, then keep your hands to yourself and off the fucking remote.”

“Oooh, he’s so gruff and feisty. I’m trembling.” 

Aran huffed a half laugh, finally managing to free himself and shut his eyes for a moment, breathing slowly as cool air touched his engorged cock. 

“My word, but that’s a pretty picture.”

He flushed, shivering now at the purr in Anders’ voice rather than physical sensation. “Lube?”

“Yes, of course. I’m not an animal.” Anders pulled a pump bottle from the nightstand and landed on the edge of the bed, crossing his ankles comfortably. Idly, he stroked a hand over his cock and balls, his gaze sweeping over Aran posessively. “I thought you’d be just a tad more enthusiastic about this. You have been expressing an interest in turning the tables recently.”

“I’m enthusiastic.” Aran pressed his fingers to his temple. “I’m just trying to… manage, yeah?”

“Yes, of course. Youthful exuberance.”

“Fuck off,” Aran laughed. “It’s your fault I’m in this state.”

“It is. It really is. There’s really nothing more handsome than a man shamelessly cackling with a weeping hard-on.”

Growling under his breath, he stalked towards the bed, watching Anders’ brows ratchet up. “You’re a psychotic, perverted, thoroughly indecent man.” 

“Oh no, have I gotten myself into trouble?”

“Don’t touch me, just flip over.”

“Ordering me about. No respect.” He clicked his tongue, crawling onto his hands and knees. 

Aran sighed low, smoothing his hands over Anders’ cheeks and squeezing lightly. “Right. So you want to be fucked, eh?” He spread those pale, angular cheeks and rubbed his thumb over the sturdy little rosebud between them. “What changed?”

“I decided I couldn’t bear to keep you waiting any longer. I’ve a soft heart.”

Aran snorted softly, squeezing lube out onto the bud, then onto his thumb, rubbing again until Anders’ breath caught softly. The bud softened under his thumb, warming with the touch and pressure, and Aran pressed gently, working his thumb in and out, slowly opening a passage. 

“It’s not my first time, you know,” Anders breathed, rocking back onto the digit. “You needn’t be so careful.”

“It’s _my_ first time with _you,_ though,” Aran knelt, swiping his tongue across the bud as he thrust his thumb into Anders. Deeper. Spreading his cheeks to make way for his lips and tongue to delve. A shudder rolled through Anders’ body. “Good?”

“You and your tongue-”

Aran grinned, squeezing more lube onto his fingers and using his tongue and fingers to stretch Anders good and wide, pumping his fingers into him and peeling him open for deeper and hungrier kisses until Anders was thrusting back against him, swearing under his breath. Focusing on the other man’s pleasure gave Aran a far better measure of control over his own. Still, when Anders began to restlessly beg for him to fuck him, his control began to shred again. And shred further still as Anders apparently rediscovered the remote in his hand.

“Fuck. Me. Now.” He held down, making Aran’s teeth buzz.

He clambered onto the bed and hastily lathered lube onto the head of his cock, stroking back his foreskin to coat his shaft; he aligned himself with the sucked and fingered hole and slipped inside, slapping the back of Anders’ thigh. “Ease off, damn it.” The pulsing plug stopped and Aran was able to focus on thrusting into that blissfully tight, hot hole, grunting under his breath as Anders moaned under him. Too much, too good. He pulled out and dropped back, tugging Anders hips up and buried his tongue in his ass again, lapping up the taste of his own cock from inside the other man until he’d managed to sort himself out again. Then remounted him. The tactic was effective. He could plow into Anders as hard and deep as he could manage, slipping right up the edge of losing his control, then bow back down to worship his work and make the other man's back quiver like a plucked string. And beg. Beg. Ah, it was sweet. “You taste so good.”

“Andraste’s sword, didn’t you eat enough at dinner?”

“I could eat you all night,” Aran mumbled into his hole.

“I believe you,” Anders moaned as Aran wrapped a hand around his shaft and stroked him in time with the eager, flicking thrusts of his tongue. “And I would - ah- love to indulge you- but - oh my lord- I want- your cock.”

“Say it again.”

“I want your cock. I want you inside me. Maker have mercy- fuck me, your great ninny, or I’ll do it myself!”

Aran laughed, smoothing his hands up Anders’ back as he regained his post and thrust deeply into him again. “You’re eager. I like it.”

“Bloody hell! Nnnnnnnng- Maker save me from boys with too much stamina- I thought we’d dealt with this? No?” 

Aran moaned long and loud as the plug began to vibrate insistently within him, driving him forward. “Oh, fuck yeah. Fuck. Godsdamnit. Ah, fuck me, shit-“ 

“Hold on, hold on- take a breath-“ Anders panted as he bowed his head forward and shook out his hair; that was enough in itself to get Aran’s engines roaring. He rarely loosed his hair from its bun and all that rough, golden blond falling around his face was so…. he watched, biting his lip, as Anders split his hair into sections and quickly braided it, holding the length back. “Take it.”

“What?”

“Take it and pull.”

Aran wrapped the braid around his fist, pulling back gently. “Like that?” 

“Harder. Pull harder.” 

“Like… this?” 

“Yesss!” The groan that rumbled out of Anders was as much a reward as an answer. “Just like that. Now fuck me.”

“Not that different from breaking a stallion, this,” he panted, bending to press his lips against the back of Anders’ neck.

“Tighter!”

“Maker, really?” He licked his lips, rising up again to hold Anders' shoulder, dragging back on his braid as he rode. The way his shoulder strained and bunched beneath Aran’s hand, sweat pooling down the center of his arched spine- Gorgeous. He was gorgeous. A powerhouse. Electric. Anders’ eyes shut tight as he thrust back against him, seeking pleasure, seeking…

“Left,” Anders whispered roughly. “There! There, left, up!”

Like being taught how to open a lock. Moment by moment, tumbler by tumbler, and he could see each individual piece as part of a whole just by watching his expression shift and open. Like learning to sail. Tying off knots and dodging the mast and feeling the wind begin to race across the bow. 

And there- the internal shift, muscles in flux around him as he drove in deep. 

“Harder! Harder! Fuck, yes, more!”

Aran reeled back, drawing on the man’s braid as hard as he could manage, feeling him shudder and buck beneath him. Anders groaned, glancing sharply over his shoulder, grinning fiercely. Sharp teeth. Sweat dripping down the side of his face. Dancing pools of dark outlined by the barest sliver of familiar blue. 

“Don’t stop! Don’t stop! Right there! Pull! Fuck me!”

“You’re magic,” Aran breathed, and saw Anders’ eyes widen in alarm. Bad timing, Aran. Very bad timing. He tore at the braid, dragging Anders’ head back and plowing into him. Everything in his head, all the words that were useless to describe how mind-blowingly erotic and beautiful the man beneath him was, he let them roll through his mind and fuel his thrusts, deeper and harder, until those, too, were gone. Then there was only the slap of flesh and the feral grunts of pleasure from both of them. The rap of the headboard against the wall. The feel of Anders under and around him, slick and hard. The insistent buzz of the plug inside of him as Anders’ fingers tightened erratically on the control, begging him, _begging_ him for more, his voice deepening and growing tighter with every blessed syllable until he whispered his ascent in ecstasy.

Aran felt a shout tear out of his throat as Anders tightened around him, squeezing him unbearably as he shuddered and poured his pleasure onto the sheets. Pounding into that grip, he lost all sense of rhythm. Tight and hot, lube slicking out of him with every thrust. Aran groaned, watching himself ramming into that flat, hard ass as Anders collapsed to his face on the bed, moaning helplessly into the mattress. “You feel so good,” he groaned, again and again, smoothing his hands over Anders’ back. It was the only thought left in his ecstasy muddled mind. Then there was only light and sensation and a sweet, final release. 

He caught himself on his forearms, barely, his muscles still shuddering through the aftershocks of his orgasm, and pressed his mouth to Anders’ spine. For a time, they stayed just like that, bent and bowed, a duet of ragged breaths. Then Anders tipped them over to the side, spilling across him in a limp sprawl and dislodging him. Aran curled behind and beneath him, smoothing his hands up the man’s sides and nuzzling kisses into the back of his shoulder. He smelled like rosemary and basil and fresh dough. “Scran,” he mumbled, nibbling at sweaty flesh.

“Hm?”

“Nothing.” He nuzzled his face into Anders’ armpit and inhaled deeply. “That was… really good.”

Anders’ laugh nestled into his heart like a warm rabbit. “Yes.”

Aran sighed contentedly as his brain slowly shut down. 

“I love you,” Anders murmured, “but you really have a terrible sense of personal boundaries.”

Aran’s breath caught. 

“And timing,” Anders continued. “Don’t step there, for goodness’ sake.”

The cat, Aran thought dimly as he fell asleep. He’s talking to the cat. Pity, that.

“What was that you said earlier?”

Aran hummed quietly. 

“Aran?”

“...Me?”

“Yes.”

“You taste so good.”

“After that.”

“I love fucking your-“

“Before that.”

“I don’t know.”

“Silliness about magic.”

Aran sighed. Caught. “I just like you is all.”

“Oh, is that what you meant?” He felt the last flex of tension leave Anders’ shoulder as the man chuckled, rolling over to kiss him thoroughly. “I’m very fond of you as well.”

“Yeah?” Aran stretched comfortably, no longer capable of keeping his eyes open. 

“We can talk about if after you reboot, if you’d like. Renegotiate the terms of our arrangement, perhaps.”

“Mmhmm,” Aran smiled, feeling a warm sensation spread through his chest. “Good.”


	2. "Already? Do I really have that much of an effect on you?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt response. Anders and Aran in a modern AU.

“Ah!” Aran groaned, hands flexing on the pillow. “Oh, Maker, fuck, yes!” He buried his face in the pillow, shouting muffled invectives as Anders made short work of him.

“You’ve got a fantastic ass.” 

“That’s not- oh- oh oh oh-!” Pleasure and pain, his muscles falling apart under Anders’ attention.

“That’s it.” 

“Just like that- just- oh- oh, fuck!” Aran shuddered, toes curling, moaning prayers and blessings in the same breathless gasp with his swears like a delectable heretic until he collapsed, sated. 

Anders picked up one of his arms, considering, and dropped it; it fell lifelessly to the bed. “Already? Do I really have that much of an effect on you?”

“I’m dead,” Aran mumbled weakly.

“I keep telling you that you need to warm up before we go to these dance classes.” Anders smoothed his hands over the worn sweatpants and started in on massaging Aran’s other thigh as Aran mewled like a weak kitten. “You won’t be so sore if you do.”

Anders’ cats - Pounce and Thimble - thought the sounds he was making were of the utmost interest as they padded up to sniff and investigate. The soft, gray kitten, Thimble, even climbed onto Aran’s back and walked up and down his spine like a proud little soldier. She was light as a feather, her paws prodding just like her papas into his sore muscles.

“You’re not getting any younger, you know.”

“Oh, tell me more about time’s inevitable march, grandpa!”

Anders swatted him with a laugh, “Don’t make me take you over my knee.”

“Promises, promises.” He twisted his arm around to scratch the kitten’s chin and felt her sprawl out wantonly across his back. A soft puddle of fur. And felt Anders moving like a ninja away. “No, don’t yet,” he mumbled.

“Shh, I have to,” Anders chuckled alongside the sound of his camera app clicking. “Thimble looks like ice cream on a warm day. No, don’t move, you’ll ruin it. Here.” He moved slowly, orienting the phone near Aran’s face without upsetting the delicate balance. “See?”

Aran rolled his head and peered at the picture, grinning despite himself, “She’s sacked out, huh?”

“Mm.”

“How long do you think I’m stuck in this position?”

“Stuck,” Anders chided. “She’s chosen you for her bed. She’s showing you love.”

“I’d rather you showed me love.”

Anders rolled his eyes, stretching out alongside him to watch the kitten. “You can have me anytime; she’ll only be a kitten like this for a short while.” 

Aran exhaled, feeling the tiny lungs expand and contract atop him. “She’s pretty cute.”

“She’s  _ adorable _ . The only kitten cuter was Ser Pouncealot.”

“Don’t let him hear you comparing them.”

“Oh, he’s decided he likes her now. I caught him giving her a bath this morning.” Anders kissed his nose, already thumbing through his photos, “Would you like to see?”


	3. "Bee Mine" (14 Days of DA Lovers Challenge 2020)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Bee Mine"

She enjoyed opening the Clinic in the afternoons. Being the first one through the antiquated phone booth, keying in the newest passcode she’d been issued, walking down the dark steps into the quiet entryway. The shadows of the cloakroom. Touching the velvet curtains as she slipped into the empty room with its gleaming mahogany planks and mismatched furnishings. Her boss had an eye for making things appear just as he wanted them to. Not quite the same as an eye for detail. That was her specialty, though she hid it well. Another specialty, that. 

She liked the way her footsteps echoed in the quiet. Turning on the lights one by one and watching each hanging bottle light from within to cast amber glows upon the bar and the tables and the stacked chairs and the leather cushions. Checking and preparing the till with its heavy drawer and ringing bell. And she liked knowing the others who worked there well enough that she could recognize them by their footsteps. 

Arhythmic, quick. One two three. One two three. “Good afternoon, Boss,” she called when she heard him reach the bottom of the stairs. She wet a rag with the vinegar and rosemary spray and started in on the tables. 

“You’re like a ghost, Harding,” Anders chuckled, ducking through the curtains. Even if she hadn’t known his hours and everyone else’s like the back of her hand, it would have been obvious he wasn’t planning to be officially behind the bar for another few hours. His hair was tied into a messy knot atop his head. His dark, thick wool sweater still had the imprint of a cat in the tufts of white fur atop his shoulder. “You’re here when I leave. You’re here when I get back. Are you living in my bar?”

“You’re the one who does the scheduling.”

“No, the computer does the scheduling.” He yawned, strolling past her towards the office. “But I do need to update it. A couple of new hires coming in. How do you feel about training?”

“Do I get hazard pay?” she asked wryly.

“Absolutely.”

“Then I feel great.”

“I’ll leave the ducklings to you then. And I’ll even give you a couple of days off beforehand.”

“You don’t have to do that. I like being here.”

“And yet there is a whole world outside just waiting to be explored.” He winked at her merrily, heading into his office and leaving the door open behind him. 

She liked the noise, too. The scrape of chairs. The rattle of glasses. The way that four or more people talking in a group began to sound like thunder rolling across a hillside. And some people in particular. “Gin twist, whiskey rocks, mead and a cup of ice chips,” she announced as she arrived at the booth. 

“How does she do it!” Aran exclaimed.

“We’re atrociously predictable,” Tristan answered.

Sera was silent. Unusual. Unpredictable. 

Harding eyed her, “Throat sore? Have a toothache?” 

Sera laughed awkwardly, prodding at her cup of ice chips. “Snerk. Funny.”

Her friends looked as confused as Harding felt. “O...kay.” She swung the tray to her side and rocked back on her heels, accepting the tip when it was offered and heading back to the bar. Before she made it, she heard a dramatized cough above and behind her and she turned to find Sera twisting her hands together.

“Hey, Harding! Sorry, right, it’s just… you’re just so squishy cute, yeah. It makes me think. Not my strong suit. I mean, it is, but-“ she sighed, shifting from foot to foot. “Do you know what I’m saying?”

Harding blinked. “I’m… squishy?”

“Sure. Squishy dishy. Get it? Shit, I’m botching this.” She bit her lip, “Do you go out? I mean, you’re always here, innit. Do they let you out? Are you trapped?”

Carbonation, bubbles rising through her chest, making the breathing tingly. The blush on her cheeks. The way she was tugging at her fingers. Oh, she was… Well. There was nothing in the rules about her not being able to… “Yes,” Lace flexed her hands on the tray. “They let me out. In rare occasions. Like a treat for good behavior.”

Sera snorted. “Good, that. Have you? Been good?”

“I did set the till on fire the other day, but it deserved it.”

“Good for you.” She tapped her toes together. “So? Maybe Saturday? After your shift?”

“The one at three on Saturday morning or three on Sunday morning?” she asked, chuckling.

“Either, right. Saturday. I said Saturday. Saturday at three.”

“You heard me say morning, right?”

She giggled, “I'll bring you breakfast, right. Bit backward, maybe, but I like backward. Does that work?”

The smile that stole across her lips was unplanned. “That sounds fun.”

“Great! Right! So I’ll see you here, then. I mean, probably before, right. Posh place, this. If you want- well, if you’re bored, I mean. I’m just up with the blokes. You can have a sit whenever if you want.” She beamed, bright as sunlight. “Right. Date with Harding. Saturday. Three AM. I’ve got it in my ledger.” She tapped her head.

“It’s Lace,” she said, turning the tray like the wheel of a ship. A rudderless ship since she didn’t seem to be going anywhere. 

“Lace,” Sera’s voice softened. “Much better than Harding, yeah. Prettier, sure. Date with Lace, then. Updated.”

She ducked her head, laughing. “I’ll… okay.” Pretty. She felt warm all over. Standing in sunlight. “Thanks. For asking.”

“Thanks for answering.” She chucked her chin back towards the table. “And for the mead.”

“And the ice chips.”

“It’s honey, yeah? Mead is.” Sera grinned, “I guess that means you’re my bee if you like if it suits us. What with the bringing of the honey and what.”

So much to do. So many secrets she could never tell. So many words that covered parts of her but never all of it. A bee. She really liked the idea of being Sera’s bee. “Buzz buzz,” she joked and received a font of elated cackling in reply. 

Sera bit her lip, stifling the laughter, and leaned down, brushing her lips ever so lightly against Lace’s cheek. “Buzz buzz.”


End file.
